


Reflection

by babbling_bedlamite



Series: Reflection [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cherry Picking of Book Canon, F/M, Mentions of Book Characters, Not Beta Read, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, soulmate-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babbling_bedlamite/pseuds/babbling_bedlamite
Summary: It was after one of their fabulous adventures in Peru that Magnus finally worked up the courage to ask Ragnor about his hallucinations.  But only after noticing that Ragnor had seem to have seen it as well.





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time writing for the Shadowhunter's universe. I started this series before season three of the show aired. So there are going to be inconsistencies between the show's canon and this series. Not to mention all of the cherry picking from the books.
> 
> This is the first part of a longer series that I'm in the process of writing where I screw with the show's canon even further. It's a rather self-indulgent story that I really only wrote to appease myself. If anyone else ends up enjoying it too that would be fantastic.

It was after one of their fabulous adventures in Peru that Magnus finally worked up the courage to ask Ragnor about his hallucinations. But only after noticing that Ragnor had seem to have seen it as well. He had been in denial about hallucinating for over a century. But if Ragnor was seeing them, Magnus would no longer worry that he was going mad.

“I would have lain odds on that woman being a mundane,” Magnus said casually, his eyes trained on Ragnor’s face. “So how is it that, every now and then, she flashes what appears to be a warlock mark?”

“Ah!” Ragnor grinned. “I’d wondered when you would work up the nerve to ask about that. You’ve earned me a tidy sum; Catarina thought it would take another decade at the least.”

“Wagering without me?” Magnus asked with a pouted lip. Ragnor scoffed.

“As if you and Catarina have no secret wagers about me!”

Magnus was distracted by the companionable argument for several more minutes. It wasn’t until their waitress, who Magnus was positive was a mundane, returned to their table that he remembered the original question.

“You are not mistaken,” Ragnor said as he picked at his dish. After the guinea pig incident, he was always leery of anything Magnus ordered for him. “She is most certainly a mundane.”

Magnus glanced at the woman again, just in time to see two spiral horns appear on her forehead. There was a phantom-like quality about them. As if sensing his attention, they seemed to become more opaque. Then he blinked and they vanished like a mirage. 

“She can’t possibly have warlock blood,” Magnus said, trying to puzzle out the dilemma. “She could have fae blood in her. But that doesn’t explain the vanishing. It isn’t a glamour.”

“No,” Ragnor said and Magnus turned his eyes back to his friend. “You were correct. That vision that you can see, that all Downworlder’s can see, is a warlock mark. Or, to be precise, the _reflection_ of a warlock mark.”

Frowning Magnus turned to look again at the woman. He had seen a few of these ‘reflections’ over the centuries and never been able to come up with an explanation on his own. Now, knowing that they were real and knowing their name, Magnus could _still_ not come up with a suitable explanation. He found his lack of sudden inspiration after learning the truth of his hallucinations galling.

Ragnor grinned, clearly enjoying his friends confusion. He made no move to explain any further and quickly dug into his dinner. Magnus huffed a little and turned his attention to his own meal. He was almost finished eating when a strange warlock entered the restaurant. 

Sensing the power of the unknown presence, Magnus glanced up. He expected to meet the stranger’s eyes and exchange the usual pleasantries. But the stranger, whom had spiraled horns on his forehead, only had eyes for the waitress. 

Magnus watched, enraptured as the two hurried towards each other and then vanished into the kitchen. He sat back in his chair; tapping a knuckle lightly against his lip as he considered this new information. Ragnor sat down his silverware and wiped his mouth with a napkin. His eyes, which were filled with amusement, never left Magnus.

“Love,” Magnus said finally, expressing more surety in his voice than he felt. “The reflections are a reflection of a warlock’s love.”

But that could not be the whole of it, Magnus thought as unease coiled in his gut. For he had loved countless people in his many years of life and he had never before seen his cats eyes reflected back at him. Ragnor’s face lost it’s amusement, as if sensing the maudlin direction Magnus’s thoughts were taking him.

Without waiting for the bill, Magnus threw enough money onto the table to more than cover both of their meals. He stood and swiftly exited the establishment, Ragnor close on his heels.

“But clearly, a warlock’s love alone is not enough,” Magnus said as they stepped out into the evening air. “There is some secondary requirement.”

“It’s not enough for love to be requited,” Ragnor said with a heavy sigh. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a pipe, which he lit with a spark of green fire. “When a warlock is in love, genuine love, their magic reaches out to the recipient of that love instinctively. You love them, you want to protect them. That is what we believe the reflections are meant to do.”

Together they meandered down the cobblestone street with no real destination in mind. The streets were filled with people, rushing to and fro in an attempt to finish their day’s work before the sun set. Eventually they reached a hill on the edge of town. Magnus threw himself onto the grass, promising himself to remove any grass stains later. Ragnor remained on his feet, watching as the sun began to sink below the mountains on the horizon.

“Warlock’s that reflect each other can share their power at a distance,” Ragnor said. “Other Downworlders that reflect can draw strength from their warlock partner. Mundanes only display the reflection.”

Magnus’ jaw clenched. He’d hoped, briefly, that Ranor might tell him that a warlock’s immortality could be shared. But that was too much to hope for. He thought back on his many relationships, the instances where his love had been requited. 

What had he been missing? Was there some spell? Some special declaration he had never learned?

“What is needed,” he asked, his hands fisting in the grass. “Clearly it’s not merely satisfaction. Satisfaction is never lacking with me.”

“Acceptance,” Ragnor said. Magnus thought he could hear a hint of sympathy in his voice. But of course, Magnus had never seen any of Ragnor’s lovers turn green and display horns. “To reflect them, the recipient of the warlock’s love must love them in return and they must acknowledge what it means to be a warlock. They must accept that knowledge, love them regardless, and desire to remain with them for as long as they are able.”

The sun disappeared behind the mountains and the world grew dark. The night was cold and so was Magnus. He thought of his mother, in the barn, dead by the keris still clutched in her cold and stiff hands. He thought of the man who had raised him, who had love him as a son until he learned what he was.

Magnus shivered, cold as if he had been submerged back into the river all over again. Under the water with the hands of someone who was supposed to love him, supposed to _protect_ him, holding him down. Not even the memory of the fire that come to him, that had burned that man to ashes and turned the river to steam, was enough to warm him.

Ragnor’s hand fell heavily on Magnus’ shoulder, squeezing in reassurance. Magnus tried to summon the energy to pretend for his friend and found that he could not. Instead, he sat in the grass, watching as the stars glistened in the night. He felt no joy and no anger. 

He wondered if this sort of emptiness was what caused warlocks to petrify.

* * *

Camille Belcourt had saved Magnus’ life in more ways than one. He did not know as much at the time, when he sat beside her, facing shadowhunters as Downworlder’s and Nephilm attempted to come to some sort of peace.

He’d been playacting for some number of years now, not wanting Ragnor and Catarina to know how he felt. Occasionally, some bright jewel like Camille would distract him, but it was always temporary. 

Her dry and witty remarks at the negotiation table intrigued him as much as her beauty. He got genuine enjoyment from conversing with her. 

But even that fleeting enjoyment wasn’t enough to keep him from making his way to the edge of Blackfriar’s Bridge. 

“Throwing away the plates,” Edmund Herondale had told him. So casually. He hadn’t even considered what that knowledge might mean to Magnus. 

He had always known that shadowhunter’s hated downworlder’s. That they did not consider them equal beings. One only had to look into an Institute’s trophy room to understand that. But he had _hoped_ that with this new attempt at peace, the shadowhunter’s views might have been changing. Finding out how wrong he was had been the last straw.

Magnus stood on the wrong side of the wall, staring down into the murky water below. A fall from this height would surely kill him, he thought. His corpse would petrify and sink to the bottom of the river. Catarina and Ragnor would never know. 

Some days they might wonder what had happened to him. But they both had lives of their own. They would forget about him quickly enough.

A heavy wind swept across the bridge, whipping the hat from his head and Magnus could not care. He stared down into the water and knew, without a doubt, that the water would accept him. It had wanted him before and he had been young and foolish to deny it. He could finally see his reflection. Dancing on the water with the ripples and waves. Magnus smiled, without any joy.

“What a waste,” said a dry voice behind him. 

Magnus turned, just enough to see Lady Camille Belcourt, standing alone on the bridge. She held his hat in her hands.

“Is it really?” Magnus asked. He knew what many downworlder’s thought of warlocks. They were half-breeds, scum.

“It is always a shame when something beautiful leaves this world,” Camille replied. “No longer to be admired or desired.”

“True,” Magnus agreed without any earnestness. “To lose my sense of fashion would be a tremendous loss for the world.”

He didn’t move from his place on the outer edge of the wall. Camille could catch him if he jumped but he did not believe that she would. Camille did not know him. If she desired him it was for base reasons only. There was no reason for her to exert herself for him.

“A truer shame,” Camille said. “Would be for all of the fashions you would miss. All of the fashions that the world will ignore because there was no one there to champion them.”

Magnus laughed. But it was a heartless sound, with no pleasure in it.

“There will always be someone to champion the truly fabulous,” he said, turning back to the welcoming reflection in the water. He felt his eyes, which he hadn’t bothered to glamour, filling with tears and he found he could not care. “Someone more worthy, someone more deserved. Someone loved.”

“Is that what this is about? Love?”

Camille’s voice was directly behind him. Magnus’ eyes widened as he felt her delicate hand grip the back of his waist coat. With what seemed to be absolutely no effort at all, the Lady hauled him over the wall. He flew to the middle of the bridge and landed, face-first, in a puddle. He briefly mourned the loss of his brocade waistcoat, which would never be the same, before Camille dragged him to his feet.

“Love Magnus Bane? You would remove yourself from the world over love?” Her voice was cutting and dripping with disdain.

“The lack of it,” Magnus replied angrily as he climbed to his feet. Blue sparks danced in the air to the beat of his suddenly furious heart. He had felt nothing but despair for so long. Now, to have that despair made known and for it to be so openly mocked, Magnus felt rage for the first time in many years.

Hands on his hips, Camille watched him. Magnus took one look at the condescending smirk on her red lips and could not contain himself.

“The lack of any hope of finding it! The lack of deserving such a thing at all! And the knowledge that no one else believes me worthy of it.”

Camille scoffed and she grabbed his hands. She placed them against her waist and pulled their bodies tightly together. She cared not for the wetness of his clothing or the angry sparks in the air. Reaching up, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled his head down for a kiss.

It was a good kiss Magnus thought, responding to it naturally. Their lips met and parted and met again with heat and passion and overwhelming lust. But no love.

“You are immortal you fool,” Camille said, arching her body into his. She reached up, tangling her hand in his hair and directing his lips to her throat. “You have an eternity to find someone to love you and worship you. To see how worthy you are.”

Magnus sucked an angry bruise onto Camille’s pale throat. Even though her cheeks were pink, he felt no heartbeat beneath his lips. She’d fed recently. That must have been why she was out here, alone in the middle of the night when no sane person should be about. Magnus pulled back, panting heavily. Camille smiled at him.

“To take yourself out of the world so early would be a true crime,” Camille whispered. She raised up on her toes and their lips met again. He could taste iron on her lips. “Love is worth waiting for is it not?” 

Magnus thought of all the people whom he had loved. Those that had loved him back but never accepted him. Never wanted to remain with him. Was waiting for that worthwhile? He had seen the reflection’s on others. He knew that love and acceptance existed but it was so hard to believe that it could exist _for him_.

“Hold onto the hope for love,” Camille said. “Even when you despair, even when that love is forbidden. Even when love seems impossible. Impossible holds no meaning for the immortal.”

She reached up and wiped the tears from his face. Magnus sighed and leaned into her touch. He could not feel any warmth from her but her skin was soft and her touch was gentle.

“Come home with me,” Camille said and, to his own surprise, Magnus found himself nodding. “Come home with me and let me give you hope of love.”

* * *

Years later, Magnus realized that _hope_ was all that Camille had ever intended to give him. He sat in the drawing room of her home, where she left him, while she gallivanted around the globe finding new lovers. He stared at the sleeping form of Will Herondale. A shadowhunter that fled from love and denied love until love took the form of an unusual, young warlock girl. 

Would Will Herondale have reflected Tessa? Not for the first time Magnus wondered. He almost wished that the young woman would display a warlock mark. Then he would have known for sure.

But, no, Tessa seemed determined to live in the world of the Nephilim. She was safer without a mark.

The Accords might have declared the taking of spoils illegal but there were plenty of shadowhunter’s out there who would be only too happy to ignore the new laws. Magnus was sure that the Clave had not managed to recover all of the manuscripts detailing the methods of collecting and preserving warlock marks. What they had gathered had been turned over the the Spiral Labyrinth with too much argument.

Magnus hoped that in time, all of the remaining knowledge would be lost for good.

Camille returned and Magnus kissed Will Herondale. He left Camille and her false, leading hope behind him. He thought of Will, a shadowhunter who loved a warlock.

Magnus believed, with all of his heart, that Will would have reflected Tessa. But it felt unreal to Magnus. Of course, Will and his friends at the London Institute were the exception, not the rule.

Camille’s betrayal after she had convinced him to live, had convinced him to hope, only to keep him as her warlock pet had hurt. Magnus had not felt such soul rending pain since he had dragged himself out of a dry riverbed and found himself alone in the world.

There was love in the world, he thought as he went to Ragnor and confessed everything. But there would be no love for him regardless of whatever Ragnor said. He took his injured hope and he locked it up tight and built wall after wall around it.

He could not keep living dreaming of a love that would never come. But he no longer wanted to die. There was one of Camille’s lessons that he took to heart. For him to be taken out of the world would truly be a tragedy.


End file.
